


strawberry margaritas

by powdermilkrory



Series: strawberry things [1]
Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Butch Louis, Cunnilingus, Cute lesbians, Dry Humping, F/F, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, Girl Direction, Lesbian Sex, Louis Tomlinson Calls Harry Styles Pet Names, Meet-Cute, Mildly Dubious Consent, Niall is only in it for like a hot second, Oral Sex, Porn With Plot, Porn with Feelings, Smut, Vaginal Fingering, but only because they briefly drink alcohol, cisgender harry, cisgender louis, girl!Harry, girl!Louis, kind of, lesbian louis, niall is a dude, their eyes meet from across the room, this is my first fic please don't hate me
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-25
Updated: 2018-07-25
Packaged: 2019-06-09 14:17:41
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,896
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15269280
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/powdermilkrory/pseuds/powdermilkrory
Summary: It bubbles in her chest, dissolving in her lungs like sour salt on her tongue, it rises to her throat, transforming into an elated hum. Their heartbeats pound beneath their skin, and the feel of a pulse should not be as riveting as it is, but Louis finds herself yearning for it, stretching her neck, tensing her muscles in longing. And then Harry presses her lips sweetly to Louis', letting electricity tingle between their lips."You taste like strawberry margaritas," Louis whispers.or harry and louis meet at a party and sweet smut ensues





	strawberry margaritas

**Author's Note:**

> hello! pls enjoy lesbian harry and louis having sex after meeting at a party! they're both a bit buzzed after drinking at the party, but a bit of time passes between them drinking and them having sex, so the sex is consensual and safe and all that good stuff! happy reading!

She smiles, slightly self-conscious of her slightly larger two front teeth. A slight blush rises on her cheeks as she tucks a curl behind her ear. She ducks her head, avoiding the gaze of the gorgeous girl from across the room. She’s scared that she won’t ever be able to look away from those gorgeous blue eyes if she doesn’t now. Even as she ducks her head, her eyes remain on the girl, reluctant to look away before they land on her own old boots. (She’d written her name on the soles of the ratty boots one night while watching Toy Story for the zillionth time.)

She taps said boot against the hardwood floor to the beat of a song she’s never heard. She breathes in and tries to match her own heartbeat to the beat (an attempt to distract herself from the gorgeous girl across the room). When that doesn’t work she thinks, fuck it and looks back up. And when she does, the girl’s eyes are still on her. Her eyes widen in surprise; a squeak escapes her mouth, hopefully slipping between the beats and guitars, concealed so no one hears. The girl smiles knowingly, softly smirking, but not in a smug or arrogant way. She smiles like she’s familiar with Harry’s body language like she knows her. The girl lifts her red solo cup to her smiling lips. A name is written in Sharpie. Louis in bubble letters and then Louis again directly under it in block letters. Harry nods to herself and takes a timid sip out of her own cup. She looks into the cup, giggling into her strawberry margarita and laughing even more when she blows bubbles through the straw (she’s slightly tipsy). She looks up suddenly, hoping no one saw her, and then she immediately looks to “Louis”, feeling as though she’s been caught with the way Louis is looking at her with amusement dancing in her eyes, small chuckles shaking her shoulders. Harry blushes, yet again, and turns on her heel, quickly shuffling away to find Niall.

Harry blames it on her growing tipsiness, but she gets lost in the house multiple times, accidentally circling back to where she started. When she sees Niall’s brown hair she almost cries with relief until she sees her best friend chatting up Louis. Harri feels regret clench her fists and disappointment lay heavy in her shoulders. From the way Louis had looked at her, Harry was convinced the girl was at the very least not straight. Harry sighs and approaches the two, reluctance weighing down her feet. She taps Niall’s shoulder sheepishly and irrationally hopes Louis won’t notice her. Niall turns around and instantly smiles upon seeing her.

“Oi!, Louis, this is my mate, Harry!” He claps Harri’s back, pulling her in for a brotherly side hug. Louis smiles until she looks at the point of their contact and her smile comes less easy. A confused Harry notices the forced smile, but Niall just rolls his eyes discreetly at Lou.

“Harry, have ya met Lou?” Niall asks, his Irish charm cutting through Harri’s nerves for a moment before she looks back to Louis and butterflies go batshit crazy in her stomach. Harri smiles. “I haven’t, no” she frowns, her disappointment in not meeting her sooner sincere. She tentatively reaches her hand out to shake Louis’ very warm, very strong hand.

“Pleasure to meet ya, mate” Louis nods with a sweet smile, gripping Harry hand tightly. Her hands are warm, holding Harry’s hand a little longer than necessary and Harry finds herself lost in Louis’ blue eyes. They’re so blue, Harry thinks.

“Sorry?” Louis says, after releasing Harry’s hand.

“What?” Harry questions, looking between Niall and Louis, confused.

“My eyes are blue too, fancy that,” Niall cackles, “Harry here is a bit pissed,” he teases while Harry elbows him with a scowl.

“Me, too, love. Cheers to that,” Harry warms at the pet name rasped from Louis’ lips, heavy with her northern accent. And then Harry realizes she whispered “They’re so blue” and her cheeks darken even further. Harry lets her hair fall into a curtain over her face to hide her blushing cheeks in the hopes that Louis won’t notice before she hears someone yell “Oi, Oi! Niallllll!” and then Niall is apologizing and hastily leaving, but not before brotherly kissing Harry’s temple. Harry swats at him as he laughs out a “No homo!” and then he’s gone. Harry’s giggles turn to a nervous chuckle upon realizing she’s now left alone with Louis. She looks up into Louis’ eyes and sees the other girl smiling, a bit confused.

“So how long have you and Niall been together?” Louis asks, casually taking a sip from her red cup. Harry notices her nails are cut nearly to the stubs and her black nail polish is chipped before she chokes on her own spit and starts in on a coughing fit. Louis looks concerned, her eyes widening almost comically as she pats Harry’s back. Harry soon recovers and Louis’ hand stays on her back before their eyes meet and Lou quickly pulls her hand away. Harry’s voice is hoarse when she says “We’re not together,” she shakes her head as if clearing the thought from her mind. “He’s basically my mother, overprotective, grossly affectionate, and annoyingly loving,” she explains.

“Definitely not together,” she reiterates, punctuating the sentence with a slurp from her pink drink. (She’s definitely on the dangerous side of tipsy now). Louis giggles and subtly scoots a bit closer to Harry.

“I’m a bit too gay for him anyways,” Harry shrugs before realizing what she’s said and then she slaps her hand over her mouth. Louis giggles and replies, “We’ve got that in common then, darling,” she drawls out, northern accent adding a bit of spice.

Harry then takes in her leather jacket, pixie cut, black vans with no socks, snapback hung from the belt loop of her black, ripped, skinny jeans and realizes that Louis is really, very gay.

“What are you drinking then, love?” Louis asks, accent dripping from every word. Harry swallows, a bit sluggish and replies molasses sugary slow, “Strawberry Margarita,” she nods as if confirming her statement. Louis laughs unabashedly.

“And how was I supposed to know you were gay, kid?” Louis questions, amused. Harry shakes her head, slightly pouting.

“I’m not a kid,” she responds finally. Louis cocks her head.

“With the way you’re pouting right now,” Louis flicks her pouting bottom lip, “I’d venture to say you are,” a pause, “kid,” Louis teases.

Harry shrugs, blushing and takes another small sip. “I’m not a kid,” she mutters, stubbornly.

“How old are you, then, little one?” Louis questions, leaning her hip against a counter. Harry laughs and shakes her head, “I’m taller than you,” she points out.

“Are you?” Louis steps close into Harry’s space and pretends to measure their heights. Her soft fingertips brush Harry’s forehead, and Harry can smell the ginger beer on Louis’ breath she’s so close. Louis shrugs before moving away again.

“I’m not so sure,” she says, tilting her head as if challenging her, even though they both know Harry is taller. Harry can’t even be bothered with their slight disagreement. She’s too busy being distracted by Louis’ accent, her soft voice, how Harry felt when Lou pulled away (like she was pulling Harry away with her).

“You certainly don’t seem taller than me,” Louis remarks, smiling softly when she notices Harry is having a hard time focusing and registering what she’s saying. Louis pushes off the counter and leans in closer to Harry yet again.

“Maybe it’s this abnormally large blouse making you look so tiny,” Louis smiles up at Harry, scrunching her nose adorably when Harry laughs. Louis tugs on the bottom of the button up sheer shirt. It’s unbuttoned practically to the top of Harry’s stomach, but she can get away with it because of the barely-there handful of breast that lays under the blouse. Louis’ hand slips a bit under the shirt, touching the soft skin of Harry’s hip with her thumb before she gently, slowly, reluctantly removes her burning touch. Harry catches her hand before it makes its way back to Louis’ side. Harri swallows, gathering her thoughts.

“I like big shirts, I feel… uh, I feel, like... pretty?” she stumbles over her words as she tries to articulate the sentence properly. Louis laughs softly, shaking “Well, you certainly look pretty,” she cocks her head again (Harry notices she does quite a lot) “Not that you need to swim in a men’s YSL sheer shirt to look pretty.”

Harry gasps. “Lou! I can’t afford YSL!”

Louis giggles. “Oh, sweetie,” she breathes out. “Darling.”

Harry notices she’s been slowly circling her thumb along the back of Louis’ hand, and she halts before she thinks, Fuck it, and pulls Louis’ hand closer. The hand appears on Harry’s waist not a second later. Louis’ smile drops, eyes flickering between each of Harry’s green ones.

“Do you wanna dance?” Louis whispers like she doesn’t want anyone to hear like she wants to keep this between them. It’s hazy and warm and muffled; they feel like they can’t see anything outside of them two.

Harry whispers, “Okay,” blinking wide-eyed at Louis with her curls falling forward, slipping from behind her ears. Louis’ left-hand remains on Harry’s waist over her abnormally large blouse and her right-hand goes to take Harry’s as she leads her to the makeshift dance floor. Louis’ pinky slips under Harry’s shirt as she guides Harry through the dimly lit house (there are little string lights all around the house that look like they come from the kid’s section of IKEA with little pumpkin lights or flower lights. It makes Harry’s face glow pink and Louis’ face glows yellow). There is a song playing, as songs do, so Louis pulls Harry to her and sways with the beat. She rests her hand on the small of Harry’s back and pulls her a little bit closer, again. Harry avoids Louis’ gaze as Louis watches the blush appear like fire on Harry’s pinchable cheeks. A dimple appears at the corner of Harry’s mouth leaving Louis staring and gripping Harry a little tighter under the blouse with her right hand. Harry places her hands on the back of Louis’ neck (she really is taller than Louis, she notices).

Harry feels her whole body warm significantly the longer she’s pressed against Louis. The skin at the back of her neck is hopelessly soft, sprinkled with peach fuzz and long hair from her pixie cut. Harry tries not to be creepy, but as she takes another sip from her strawberry margarita from behind Louis’ head (still clutched tightly in Harry’s hand) her head becomes fuzzier and she forgets why she shouldn’t pet her. So she does.

Louis’ thumb rubs circles into Harry’s hip and her other hand pets over her waist, wishing that it could feel the warmth of her skin. Harry loves the way Louis holds her, shielding her from the world, holding her to herself. It sends a thrill of excitement through her causing her stomach to flip, her heart to race, her knees to go weak. It sends a feeling all through her veins, close to the surface, like a champagne bottle ready to burst. Louis’ touch is light but unwavering. She’s making Harry crazy with just her sure touch, just the way she’s holding her.

Louis’ thumb rubbing circles into Harry’s hip leaves electricity crackling behind it, heating Harri’s skin and making her eager for more, more so much more. Louis’ fingertips rest on the hem of Harry’s black skinny jeans and Harry is discovering that she really, really likes Lou.

“If you’re cold and needing shelter,” Louis whispers into Harry’s ear, her lips brushing Harry’s earlobe and sending shivers rushing down Harry’s back. It sends a tickle and a warmth and fucking electricity down Harry’s spine, like champagne dripping down her spine, between her shoulder blades (and down into her pants if you know what i’m saying). Louis shrugs, gripping Harry a little tighter, “I know we’re not together, but babe I won’t forget ya.” She tickles her sides shoving her fingers into the softness of her torso. Louis giggles as Harry pulls away from her and gives Louis what she imagines to be a “withering glare”, but Louis just tells her she looks more like a disgruntled kitten. Louis laughs even more as she attempts to rid Harry of her “withering glare” by shoving her fingers under the oversized blouse and tickling her almost maniacally.  
Harry lets out an almighty squawk as she attempts to push Louis’ hands away. The commotion attracts many onlookers, but the strange looks do not deter their joyous laughter, nor does it remove Louis’ hands from under Harry’s shirt. Louis looks dramatically into Harry’s eyes and with much cadence, declares, “They don’t understand us, Dear Harriet, we must go and escape their judging eyes.”

Harry giggles as Louis dramatically stomps away, catching Harry’s hand and towing her along with her. Louis pulls Harry out the door and abruptly stops, causing Harry to slam into the northern girl and wrap her arms around her waist in an attempt to steady herself. (any thought harry has ever had flees her mind) Harry feels something from her elbows to her knees; an inexplicable feeling that she could only fall short of describing. Louis’ arms are rested on top of Harry’s where they lay on Louis’ waist. Harry’s pressed up behind her, warming Louis so entirely, she practically melts. Every tension, resistance, or uncertainty in her body has left her body, leaving her with an almost instinctual need to soften, melt against Harry. Her head falls back onto Harry’s shoulder, and they subconsciously sway along to the bass that can still be heard from inside.  
Harry turns her head then and notices Louis’ outstretched neck. She takes note of the way her collarbones glisten in the faint moonlight, the way her vest dips low on her chest and exposes a bit of cleavage. It makes her hands twitch where they still hold Louis to her. Harry’s still a bit buzzed, and that’s what she blames it on when she finally presses her lips against Louis’ neck. A rush of air leaves Louis’ lips, escaping into the night in a white puff. (it’s clearly cold outside but neither one of them feel cold, the warmth of each other keeping them blushing and plenty, plenty warm).

“Walk me home, babe?” Louis requests, slightly breathless, chest heaving (Harry watches it with rapt attention).

“Yeah,” she swallows, “Yeah, of course.”

Louis leans away from Harry with reluctance, and Harry releases her hold on Lou’ waist. Louis, however, catches her wrist before Harry’s hand makes its way back to its body. They start walking, passing a streetlight every once in a while, causing their hair to shine mutely and their skin to glow yellow.

“So, where’d you get the strawberry margarita?” Louis turns to face her, walking backward and grabbing both of Harry’s hands. Harry looks confused, biting her lip and furrowing her brow.

“I’m pretty sure I consumed every beverage they were serving at that party and I do not-” she pulls Harry close and smiles when the girl giggles “remember seeing a strawberry margarita.”

Louis scoffs playfully, “I’ve never even heard of a strawberry margarita,”

Harry looks down bashfully and releases one of Louis’ hands so she stands next to her again instead of in front of her.  
“I made it at home,” she shrugs, looking down at her boots. Louis laughs hysterically, throwing her head back and hugging Harry close to her.

“No, you did not,” she giggles, pressing her forehead to Harry’s shoulder.

“Yes, I did!” she says, incredulous and struggling not to laugh with Louis. She shakes her head indignantly and then shrugs.

“The drinks are never good at house parties,” Harry says (if she still had her cup, she’d have taken a sip, but alas). Louis has Harry wrapped up in her arms, and the taller’s girl bum pressed against Louis. (It makes Louis’ heartbeat madly, makes the adrenaline run through her body, makes her fingers shake slightly with jitters like if she had too much caffeine, she thinks).

“Been to quite a few parties then, eh?” Louis asks. Her voice vibrating through her chest and into Harry’s back. Her breath brushes against the side of Harry’s neck. And Harry really likes it; she likes being so close to Louis and feeling Louis and the side effects of the way Louis moves and just Louis.

“A few, not much else to do at Uni,” she explains, shrugging yet again and causing Louis’ head to move along with Harry’s shoulders.

“I mean… you could always revise,” Louis sniggers as Harry looks over her own shoulder to fix Louis with a blank stare and then rolling her eyes before ignoring her completely.

Louis giggles, then calms down, “Hey,” she coaxes, a bit of laughter still in her tone. “I’m sure you’re smart enough that you don’t even have to revise,” she whispers into Harry’s ear. It tingles from Harry’s ears, down her neck, collecting in a shudder across her shoulder blades. Louis hugs her tighter with her forearms resting against Harry’s ribs. She can feel Harry’s chest expand and deflate as she breathes. She’s in love with the feeling and finds herself struggling to focus on walking when all she wants to do is touch Harry. She runs her fingers in the dip between each rib, presses her thumbs into Harry’s love handles. She slips her fingers under the blouse, she holds Harry’s hips and places a kiss on her neck. Harry sucks in a breath, surprise gripping her lungs.

“Moving quickly, eh, babes?” Harry laughs breathily with her eyes fluttering closed at Louis’ touch. Her heart, her poor, poor heart, is about to give out. The way Louis touches her skin makes her think of having too much caffeine. It makes her heart beat rapidly in her chest, makes her breath come out a little quicker, makes her tummy warm with want.

They’re standing in the middle of the sidewalk now; they’ve completely given up on trying to walk.  
Louis chuckles, low in her throat, and gently, slowly takes Harry’s skin between her teeth.

“No, baby,” she pauses, then breathes into Harry’s skin. “We’re gonna take this slow,” she whispers, pressing the words against Harry’s pulse. Her fingers twitch from where they’re stuffed in her front jean pockets. She realizes her eyes have closed once she opens them to blue irises circling pupils like a halo. Harry knows she’s screwed, knows she has no chance against this lesbian angel-devil, sexy, sweet, beautiful, witty woman. So she brings her hands out from her pockets and places them on Louis’ cheeks. Louis’ hands are on her waist, lightly tapping against her sides as though typing on a keyboard. Her face is tilted up slightly at Harry, eyes wide with wonder. Harry’s gaze falls to Louis’ lips, deliciously (naturally) red, and she wouldn’t be surprised if her own lips are parted (her mouth parted while she drools just looking at Louis). But then Harry snaps out of it, rolls her eyes, “You’re a fucking tortoise,” she retorts.

And then Louis is laughing, giggling maniacally, pressing the back of her hand to her lips trying to stuff the bubbles of happy back into her mouth. Harry smiles fondly at her, laughs with her. Harry watches with intent as the sides of Louis’ eyes crinkle, fold. She watches as Louis’ eyes turn grey in the light. Her thumbs press against where her dimples would be.

“My apartments right fucking there, Harold, if you’d stop staring at me and look the fuck around,” Louis teases, giggling. So, Harry does look the fuck around and when she spots LOUIS taped up on the dark window with blue painters tape, waves of excitement ripple through her stomach leaving her knees weak. She hurriedly grips Louis’ soft hand and pulls her to Louis’ door.

“Mmm, eager are we?” Louis laughs, in no hurry to follow Harry through the flat door. Harry rolls her eyes fondly.

“It’s not my fault you’re a sloth,” Harry scoffs, letting go of Louis’ hand so that the girl Harry is so completely enamored with can open her flat door.

“You know, sloths have, like, disgustingly long claws,” Louis eyes her own fingernails. She has short, blunt fingernails. Butch nails, Harry likes to call them.

“Well, you’ve certainly got your claws in me,”

Louis turns around slowly and stares Harry dead in the eye.

“You’re an idiot,” Louis deadpans. Harry cackles maniacally.

“Are you just, like, an encyclopedia of dad jokes?” Louis wonders, walking through her flat, flicking on lights. Harry trails after her, fingertips brushing books, plants, blankets.

“Why an encyclopedia? Why not a dictionary?” she questions, sipping her strawberry margarita. It’s almost gone.

“Dictionaries have definitions,” Louis explains, plopping down onto her couch.

“What does an encyclopedia have, then?” Harry asks, plopping down right next to her and setting her cup down. Their legs brush. Harry thinks that the contact might be completely stunning, heartstopping if their black jeans didn’t separate their skin.  
Louis cocks her head, thinking. Confusion scrunches up her features, squinting her eyes, pushing her lips, crinkling her nose.

“Actually, I don’t know,” she shrugs, and her face becomes lax again. Harry giggles.

“You’re so full of shit,” Harry teases, squeaking it out between giggles. Louis gasps dramatically, sitting up straight.

“I am not” she protests, punctuating each word with a slight shove to Harry’s shoulder. Harry bats her hands away, giggling even more. Harry’s squeaks spur Louis on and she starts frantically (evilly) shoving her fingers against Harry’s skin (Harry’s skin is bursting from the tickles. Harry’s skin is bursting from the contact). Harry leans back, trying to escape Louis’ cruel (cute) fingers. Her cheeks have flushed a permanent pink and her lips have spread in a wide smile, tongue sticking out every once in a while. Louis is enamored; she can’t stop touching her.

Naturally, neither one of them notice that Louis is now leaning over Harry, hands gently resting on Harry’s waist, fingers squeezing every once in a while (she’s typing words into Harry’s skin, her left index finger: F. Her right ring finger: O. Her right index: N. Her left middle finger: D. over and over.) Harry breathes heavily as her manic grin slowly eases into a contented smile. Her eyes lid just the slightest with sleepiness, but when she catches sight of the way Louis is looking at her…

“You’re still full of shit,” she shrugs, smiling like a little shit (She’s the devil, Louis thinks. Pure evil. Here to kill me. ((Her heart is racing. She’s sure it’s going to give out)).

“Shut up,” Louis laughs making her fringe fall into her eyes. She flicks it away, can’t stand the thought of not being able to see Harry properly.  
The smile falls completely from Harry’s face.

“Make me,” she whispers, breathless, chest rising and falling rapidly.  
Louis smile falters, her eyes widen, she nibbles a bit on her lower lip. She shakes her head with- almost- disbelief. A smirk graces her lips before it’s gone.

“You are a little minx,”

And before Harry can respond Louis’ lips are on hers. Harry’s eyes are wide open for a second, watching as Louis nears her face, lightning fast but careful, and then lightning is upon her because Louis is kissing her. Her heart is racing, adrenaline pumping through her body, making her jittery, her hands shake, her lips, her lips!  
Harry is positively shaking under Louis, happiness bubbling in her chest making her almost choke with it. And in that infinity from one second to the other, her lips finally catch up and respond. Louis hums into her mouth, a sweet content sound, low and rumbling through Harry, making her lips tingle (it reminds her of how Louis was just tickling her).

Because- because Louis’ lips, Louis’ mouth, warm and soft against hers making her feel all kinds of crazy, all kinds of nervous. Harry can hardly breathe, too scared, almost. Louis is making her dizzy. So dizzy, she feels like she’s falling, and grabs onto the couch under her and then she realizes she could be holding Louis.  
So, she does, hands finding their way under Louis’ leather jacket (LEATHER JACKET HOW FUCKING HOT) and wrapping around her back, pulling her closer so Louis is basically laying on her. Louis' hands move to bracket Harry’s head, trying to brace herself, trying to regain a semblance of control (she has no control).  
Harry’s fingers dance over her back, sweeping up and down, gripping, clutching onto fabric. And then she feels skin. The side holes of Louis’ vest reaches the bottom of her ribs and Harry can feel skin. Louis shudders, the electricity inside Harry’s fingers rushing between them into Louis skin causing pressure points and nerve endings to react accordingly. She is shivering in the heat of Harry.

So, Harry’s finger slide under her shirt, travel to the small of her back, press her fingertips into the dimples of her back. Louis’ hips press forward in an attempt to escape Harry’s wandering fingers (a natural reflect when Harry is setting her skin on fire) straight into Harry’s crotch.

Harry squeaks into Louis’ mouth.

“Sorry, sorry, baby” Louis rushes out into Harry’s lips. Harry shakes her head, making Louis pull back.

“Keep going- k-k keep going” she whispers out of breath, bringing her lips up to Louis’. When Louis seems reluctant, Harry wraps her legs around the girl on top of her, fingers brushing Louis’ jaw, bringing her closer.

“Keep going,” she whispers against Louis’ lips.

And then they’re lips crash against each other with more purpose this time, less languidly. Harry’s hands slide down Louis’ back, sure as a river’s flow and pushes Louis further into her as she cants her hips up to meet Louis. There’s hardly any friction, for either of them, but Harry loves kissing Louis, loves the idea of what is about to happen.  
Harry’s hands are splayed across Louis’ back, occupying as much space as possible. Louis’ skin is so soft, so warm. Harry can feel her muscles coiling under her skin, loves the way she tenses with Harry’s touch. Her fingertips tease Louis’ waistband. As Louis gasps in response, Harry’s lips drag along Louis’ cheek, skimming down to her neck. Taking in the way her breath hitches as she does so, her teeth nip directly under Louis’ jaw. Her tongue slips between her lips, lightly tracing Louis’ skin. She blows over the trail of her touch and relishes in the shudder Louis gives. Her hands clutch Harry’s too big blouse, instinctively grabbing onto something while Harry drives her absolutely mad.

Louis’ hands slide under Harry’s back, thumbs pressing against her ribs (she can feel the way life expands her bones, inflates her lungs). She wraps her arms around her until her forearms are almost crossed, fingertips slotting between Harry’s ribs.

“Wait, w-a-wait, baby, hold on,” she stutters out, trying to speak even as her voice catches. She adjusts Harry’s legs on her hips, making Harry hold on tighter. She places her hand on the couch, bracing herself, and the other one holding Harry to her. She places her foot on the ground and lifts Harry up off the couch. Harry squeaks (again).  
Harry holds on for dear life, significantly turned on by the way Louis is holding her (what a strong butch! Carrying me to her room, won’t let me touch the ground, won’t let me away from her touch. wow).

“You know I can walk, right?” Harry snorts, putting her chin on Louis’ head.

“With those Bambi legs? Fat fucking chance,” Louis scoffs, panting a bit. She presses a kiss to the v of Harry’s collarbone. Harry shuts up.

Louis plops Harry onto her bed quite unceremoniously making Harry giggle and Louis’ eyes crinkle in response. Louis throws off her leather jacket, unleashing a beautiful view of side boob, and Harry finds herself in complete and utter awe of the soft swells of skin (evidently, Louis likes to free the nipple).

“Did you just throw me on your bed?” Harry laughs. Louis shrugs.

“Maybe,” she says offhandedly, then throws Harry a teasing smirk.

“You’re terrible,” Harry laughs, shaking her head. Louis bends over, placing her hands on the edge of the bed.

“Oh, am I?” her hand brushes Harry’s ankle. She pulls her closer by her ankle, sliding Harry across the sheets. Both of their hearts beat wildly in anticipation as Louis crawls closer; Harry lays under her, waiting. Her hands sit behind her, propping her up so she can watch the way Louis’ eyes darken as she looms closer (it’s almost predatory, Harry feels wanted, chased. This is new).

Louis’ hands rest by Harry’s hips, her knees on either side of Harry’s legs. Louis presses her lips to Harry’s, the latter’s long fingers curling over her shoulders and pulling her in. And as she slips her tongue between Harry’s lips, she tastes strawberry margarita. Sweet and unexpected, lingering on her tongue long after the initial taste. Harry’s hands hold the back of her neck, pulling her closer.

“Wait, wait, baby, hold on,” Louis says against her lips. Harry pulls away with a dejected look. Her eyebrows are furrowed and her lip is pouted.

“What?” she pants, confused. Louis presses her thumb against the wrinkle in-between Harry’s eyebrows, effectively smoothing out her frustration.

“Can you sit on my lap, darling?” Louis asks, pushing a strand of hair behind Harry’s ear. Harry nods eagerly, pressing her cheek into Louis’ hand.

“Okay, baby, let me get settled, okay?” Louis presses a chaste kiss to her cheek. Harry hopes Louis misses the way Harry’s cheeks flame under Louis’ touch.

As Louis backs herself up against the headboard Harry begins to unbutton her own blouse. She thinks she’d rather have Louis undress her, but this will have to do. Louis seems to realize what she’s doing if her shocked look is anything to go by. Harry crawls closer on hands and knees. Louis can see down her shirt now, catches a sight of her tiny mounds capped by her rosy nipples. A noise escapes her throat.

“If you are not in my lap in the next two seconds, you’ll be getting yourself off,” Louis huffs, reaching for Harry. She grabs the lapels of Harry’s unbuttoned shirt and pulls her closer. Their lips bump together, making Harry indignantly whine into Louis’ mouth before she kisses back with just as much fervor as Louis is. Harry’s soft thighs bracket Louis’ hips, her bum resting on Louis’ heavenly thighs. Louis’ fingers are clutched so tightly to Harry’s blouse that the fear it might rip is not entirely outlandish. Her hands move to the bottom buttons, swiftly unbuttoning them to reveal the soft roll of Harry’s tummy.

A soft sigh escapes Harry’s lips when Louis’ fingers skim the soft skin over Harry’s ribs. Her hands curl into Louis’ jeans, shivering at the way Louis is touching her. Her hands travel up the expanse of Harry’s rips, swiping her thumbs under the swell of Harry’s breast. (Harry is not wearing a bra, this turns Lou on). Harry grasps the back of Louis’ neck, pulling her closer as Louis swipes her thumb over Harry’s nipple. Their lips connect, sending Harry’s whimper down Louis’ mouth.

Louis’ hands have disappeared under Harry’s shirt, covering the entirety of her breasts with her hands. Louis’ head slides down the headboard as Harry pushes into her, trying to squeeze as close as possible. The butch out of the two of them ends up laying under Harry, her soft skin pushed determinedly into Louis’ hands. A puff of air escapes Louis’ mouth, reveling in the softness of Harry’s breasts. They remind Louis of candle wax, burning in her hands, beautifully soft and malleable in her hands.

It bubbles in her chest, dissolving in her lungs like sour salt on her tongue, it rises to her throat, transforming into an elated hum. It vibrates between their lips. Harry’s fingers dance along the expanse of Louis’ neck, sending Louis’ hands to her waist, wrapping around and pulling her closer. Their warm stomachs press together, their heartbeats battling between their skin. The feel of a pulse should not be as riveting as it is, but Louis finds herself yearning for it, stretching her neck, tensing her muscles in longing.

Lips crawl down Louis’ neck, leaving feather light kisses along the smooth skin of her collarbone. It leaves a feeling deep in her chest like cherry Fanta soda shook up to the point where it’s just fizz. The feeling only intensifies as Harry’s fingers walk themselves under Louis’ shirt, pushing up the black tank top so it just shows the swells of her boobs from underneath. Her chest rises and falls shortly, and Harry watches on with intrigue.

“Are you gonna to ogle my tits all night, or are you gonna actually fucking do something,” it comes out far more breathy than Louis plans. She’s practically panting it out, actually.

This snaps Harry out of her trance, though, so she presses her lips to the space under Louis’ boob, where the underwire would go, had she chosen to wear a bra. She opens her mouth wide, letting the cut of her teeth scrape along the sensitive skin. Louis’ breath hitches, and Harry smiles against her soft, soft flesh.

Harry sucks and sucks, nibbling and pressing kisses all over the expanse of Louis’ breasts. Louis’ got her eyes shut tight with her fingers tangled in Harry’s wild hair, and even with her eyes closed, she can still see flashes of Harry’s pink lips, the sweep of her eyelashes, the swells of her hips. As Harry pulls away, gasping for breath, she leaves behind spots of pink across Louis’ chest.

Fingers wrap behind Harry’s ears, thumbs stroking the peachy soft skin before her ears, and pull her to Louis’ face. They rest there for a moment, both panting and breathing in each other’s sweet air. And then Harry presses her lips sweetly to Louis’, letting electricity tingle between their two lips.

“You taste like strawberry margaritas,” Louis whispers.

And then Harry is flipped on her back, shirt falling open to expose herself fully to Louis, who lets out a strangled, low noise before desperately pressing her lips and teeth against Harry’s skin. She bites her way down Harry’s soft stomach, pressing light kisses around Harry’s belly button (Harry giggles). Her lips stop at Harry’s waistband, and she looks up questioningly. Harry nods, breath escaping her lips in short gasps as Louis’ deft fingers swiftly unbutton her painted on Gap black jeans to reveal her soft pink panties underneath.

Louis lets out a whimper at the sight of small lace bordering the edges of the panties. She presses a short kiss to the itty-bit of panty visible before continuing to pull down the denim. Slowly, the dark patch of hair comes into view beneath the slightly transparent fabric of Harry’s knickers, followed by the sight of Harri’s beautifully soft thighs. Louis pets her thighs and feels the unshaved golden hair sparsely sprinkled about her frosting soft skin. As she pulls the pants down further, Harry’s knees peek out, debuting a few bruises on each.

“I’m a tad bit clumsy,” Harry explains, sheepishly from where she’s propped herself up on her elbows to look down at Louis. The blue-eyed girl only smiles as she presses kisses to each one of the bruises while keeping her gaze lazily resting on Harri’s beautiful green eyes. Her teeth are dug into her lip to keep from smiling abnormally large at Louis. The boots with “Harry” written on the bottoms are pulled off. The ‘H’ catches Louis’ eye and she turns it over, inspecting Harry’s name written on the bottom.  
“Did you seriously write your name on the bottom of your boot like Woody from Toy Story,” Louis asks, entirely unamused, but secretly incredibly fond. (Harry can see the fond in the way Louis’ eyes crinkle by the side). Harry blushes anyway.

“Well, I mean Andy wrote his name on all his toys feet, so…”

Lou laughs at her, laying her head on Harry’s shin as she looks up at her.

“That is the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard,”

Harry shrugs.

“Can you take off my trousers now? I kind of just look like I forgot to pull up my pants after using the loo,”

Louis giggles even more, pressing her laughs into Harry’s skin. Harry can’t help but smile.

Louis nods, “Sure, doll,” she presses one last kiss to Harry’s shin, before pulling her pants the rest of the way down. She presses a kiss to her ankle and then her big toe.

“You know what would be funny?”

“What?”

“If you tattooed ‘big’ on your big toe,”

Harry looks at Louis with such reverence, such wonder and confusion and admiration, and- and she’s absolutely ethereal. The way her fringe gets caught in her eyelashes, and her blue eyes have been darkened to a starry night kind of blue. Her lips are parted in a relaxed smile, waiting for Harry to laugh at her joke. And when Harry laughs, oh boy does she laugh. She laughs until she’s curled up on her side, belly rolls making her appear softer than ever before, and Louis can’t help but laugh with her. The absurdity of this situation is apparent to both of them, but it doesn’t even matter (it. It hardly even matters that here they are, supposed to be hooking up (this should be sexy, wanton, arousing, eRoTic), but instead they are taking their sweet time between kisses to laugh at each other and smile and press their teeth between the creases of their skin. This doesn’t even seem real. The way Harry’s dimple forms so deeply in her cheek it looks as if God himself is poking his finger into her lovely, lovely skin.

“You’re mad, Lou-” Harry realizes she doesn’t know Louis’ last name, “What’s your last name Loueh?”

“Tomlinson, baby,” she replies, smiles deeply and dopily, flicking her fringe out of her eyes.

“Tomlinson-Baby, what a name,” Harry giggles.

“Shut up, you wanker,” Louis says between squeals of laughter.

Harry lays flat on her back, spreading her arms wide, and letting all of her show, once again.

“Make me,”

Louis shakes her head slowly.

“C’mon, baby, you’ve already used that one,” Louis insists.

“Worked pretty good the first time though, didnit?” Harry says, smiling as big as she can.

“I guess it did,” Louis says absentmindedly. She’s started to press kisses from the inside of Harry’s ankle up her calf to her knee to the inside of her thigh to where she can feel the heat of Harry radiating from her. She wants to lay her cheek against it, smell the tangy, salty, sweet smell of her and just die there. But she doesn’t. Instead, she presses a kiss where she would guess Harry’s center is, feeling the soft, worn cotton, and the harsher, coarser hair beneath it. She moves her mouth away again, working on sucking a mark into Harry’s inner thigh, nibbling against her satin like skin. Harry’s skin is perfect, almost entirely unblemished apart from a few beautifully placed freckles, and Louis intends to properly wreck it before the night is over.

While she continues to mark up Harry’s thigh, she presses her thumb against Harry’s core, pressing in slightly. Not enough for friction, but enough to feel Harry’s wetness through her hair and panties, and enough for Harry to push her hips down into the bed, trying to get more from Louis. She rubs her thumb around in little circles with feather light touches, making a soft whine escape Harry’s lips. Her breath hitches, and a bit of her voice shows through, high and sweet and making Louis think of cotton candy.  
Louis moves her mouth over her thumb, pressing in a little deeper before pulling her thumb away completely and just breathing against her.

“You good, baby?” she asks, against Harry’s heat. Harry nods frantically, curls flying everywhere.

“Good,” she squeaks, not even looking Louis in the eye.

“Can you look at me, baby?” Louis asks, moving her mouth away. Harry nods and looks at her, pupils completely blown, cheeks red, lips plump and pouted as she breathes shallowly.

“I’m gonna take your knickers off, is that okay?” Louis asks, hooking her fingers under Harry’s waistband.

“Yeah, yeah, yes, yes please,” she whispers, voice catching in her throat. She can barely talk, but she can lift up her hips and watch as Louis slowly pulls her panties down. Her curly hair pokes through the lace as Louis pulls down the underwear painstakingly slow. Louis presses a kiss to each thigh as she pulls the underwear down, having to shimmy the underwear back and forth over Harry’s thic(c)k thighs. Louis throws the offending fabric away and pays no mind to it as her eyes travel up Harry’s body.

“You’re so beautiful, Harry, Jesus,” she breathes out low enough that it almost sounds like she’s talking to herself.

Harry must be art and the bed her canvas with the way she’s practically panting without even being touched, her fingers playing with the sheets beneath her, her shirt falling off to showcase her dusty pink nipples standing perfectly at attention.

“Please,” Harry whispers, her eyes closing as the words leave her lips and that has Louis falling forward onto her elbows, hands grabbing the inside of her soft, soft thighs.

She presses kisses to the soft pudge there, gradually making her way up to her pubes. Louis can smell her already, can see the filaments of her wetness like crystals in the darkness of her hair. She separates the hair with her index finger, lightly grazing her clit. Harry gasps with the touch, sucking in a breath, making her ribs more pronounced than before, her hip bones, too. Louis wets her lips, tongue sliding between her teeth, and puckers them. She presses a kiss to the hood of Harry’s clit, soft and tender and sweet. Her tongue slips between her lips, pointed and flicking over the sweet nub. Harry’s hips circle of their own accord; sweet whimpers ache at the back of Harry’s throat. As the sound leaves her throat, she spreads her legs even further while Louis parts her slit, fingers just getting wetter and wetter. The pink of her comes into view soft and slick- a mess of heat already, clit swollen and hard.

“Fuck,” she whispers, breath brushing Harry’s heated skin. It sends a shiver up her spine, making her hips buck involuntarily straight into Louis’ mouth. She wraps her lips around Harry’s clit, sucking lightly and flicking her tongue against her. Harry’s mouth has fallen into a silent ‘o’, her toes are curling and uncurling, knees have been bending slightly before arching her back and pressing her legs back into the mattress.

The underside of Louis’ tongue runs from Harry’s clit down to the bottom of her silky skin, pointing slightly when she gets to Harry’s hole. It catches slightly making Harry gasp before it slides along. The velvet of Louis’ tongue returns to Harry’s hole. It circles around, teasing until she pushes in, tongue pointed and relentless as she hears Harry moan. The sound begins low in her throat, rumbling until it thins into a high whimper. And Harry’s fucking convinced Louis’ soft fingertips are gonna leave bruises on the insides of her thighs; her knuckles are positively white with how tight she’s gripping Louis’ old, ratty, soft comforter.

Blue eyes notice Harry’s white knuckles as she comes up for air.

“Oi!” she yells, muffled against Harry’s fucking vagina. Harry’s eyes snap open, confused and alarmed. “Try not to rip the comforter I’ve had since I was like, seven, fanks” she says entirely against Harry’s flesh, lips brushing her folds, vibrations sending sparks of pleasure through her, making small whimpers and furrowed brows.

“Try not to fucking kill me, thanks,” Harry huffs, struggling for breath.

“Hmmm…” Harry squeaks as Louis hums against her. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” the mischevious girl shrugs with a devilish smile pressed against Harry.

“You’re the spawn of Satan, I swear,” Harry breathes, running her hands through her hair. Louis smirks then kisses Harry and quickly pushes a finger inside of her, already slick with Harry’s wetness. An unsuspecting gasp is forced from bitten red lips, a bit of a whine catching in her throat like the holes of lace snagging.

“What was that, love?” the Lesbian Devil whispers into Harry’s clit, teasing and curling her fingers inside of her, pushing Harry’s hips into the air, a loud whine scratching her throat. She sucks the sweet nub between her lips, flicks her tongue over it, minutely grinds her finger inside of Harry, and she comes. A long, sweet whine falls off her tongue, rolls off her lips, hangs in the air. Her breath comes out in puffs, huffs of air, and her hips raise in the air, before Louis clamps a hand over her hip and brings her down, hungrily, sloppily eating her out. As she pants, small whimpers escape, soft ah, ah, ahmmmhh’s while Louis slowly and softly pushes her fingers in and out.  
Then Harry’s hips relax, fingers unclench from their fists, whines settle into soft breaths, tongues return to their mouths, and a certain index finger slips out of a certain hole. Harry’s ribs, fluttering and exhausted, tingle under Louis touch. She’s crawling up Harry’s body, soft smiles pressing into soft skin. Harry’s eyelashes flutter, green eyes hidden from view, but her dimples make up for their absence every time Louis’ lips brush her skin. Harry has yet to move an inch when Louis hovers above her face when she runs her fingertip across Harry’s eyelashes.

“Hi, baby,” she whispers. Harry smiles, eyes still closed and nuzzles into Louis’ cheek.

“Can you look at me, baby girl?” Louis asks, running her finger down Harry’s jaw. Harry smiles mischievously, eyes crinkling while she shakes her head, no. Louis laughs softly.

“Please,” she breathes against Harry’s eyelashes and presses a kiss to both of her fluttering eyelids. Harry does then, of course. How can she resist looking at this beautiful woman any longer? She opens her eyes to Louis’ raw red lips, Louis’ smile, Louis’ breath, and her eyes (my god her eyes, deep blue like the lake harry used to swim in as a child, like the sky just before the moon comes out).

“Hello, lovely,” she rasps, soft and low just for them.

“Hi,” Harry responds, barely a scratch of her throat and presses her nose against Louis, hands around the other girl’s neck and pulling her closer. Their lips slide together, soft and tender, careful and slow just a brush of sweetness. The tip of Louis’ tongue traces the plush of Harry’s lips and then steals between her lips, coaxing her mouth open and letting her sweet breaths out. Louis’ fingertips crawl down Harry’s ribs, feather-light touches leaving behind a trail of goosebumps and tingles. Harry’s hands slide down Louis’ neck, hands spreading in between her shoulder blades. Her eyebrows furrow with concentration as her hands move to smooth down her back. Anticipation builds in her stomach as her fingers near Louis’ waistband, her hands itch to grope and hold and caress. And they do, they sink into the luscious muscle of Louis’ bum, heavenly and perfect, soft and firm- just fucking beautiful all around. Louis is whining and fuck, if it’s not the most beautiful thing Harry’s ever heard, breathless and soft, chest heaving. It makes her mouth water, makes her lick into Louis' mouth with even more fervor, sends pricks of overwhelm to her eyes.

Harry’s hands drift to Louis’ thighs, spread over Harry’s hips and straddling her. They’re thick and built; Harry can feel the muscles tensing there when she bites Louis’ lip. Feels the heat of her against her stomach, raw and unabashed. Harry wraps her arms around Louis’ waist, and pulls her close, dropping Louis’ weight on Harry’s body. Louis whimpers and bucks her hips, involuntarily, denim dragging on Harry’s soft stomach.

“Jesus Christ,” Louis whispers, breathless and slow, like the words are having a hard time finding their way to the surface. Harry smiles in response and pushes Louis’ chest making her sit up straight. Her fingers leave goosebumps behind as they trail from Louis’ sternum, between her breasts, and down her soft stomach to her zipper where Harry slowly unbuttons, unzips and undoes Louis on a spiritual fucking level.

Black Calvin Klein boxers come into view, soft toned skin spilling over the elastic a bit. Harry presses a kiss to the bottom of Louis’ ribs, over her vest, the only place she can reach without folding her body in half.

“Can we take this off, please?” Harry asks, impatient and teasing. Louis snorts.

“What?” asking what Harry wants.

“All of it,” she whispers, plump lips finding Louis’ throat, teeth nipping and eliciting a small gasp from Louis’ thin, and bitten red lips.

“Yeah,” she sighs, distracted and delighted. “Yeah, okay”

Harry’s fingers curl under the hem of Louis’ shirt, blunt nails scratching golden skin as she pulls the shirt off her. More and more skin is revealed like slowly opening a curtain to debut a masterpiece. Harry’s eyes fill with wonder as Louis’ soft abs appear, then her ribs, (expanding and collapsing under Harry’s touch, like her fingertips give Louis life) and her boobs. Bare and unadulterated right in front of her. Her pale stretch marks shine; they seem almost pearlescent in the light of the room.  
And it’s cliche, it is, but she is perfect in her imperfections, lovely in her rawness. Her breath is ragged, chest flushed and blotchy, hair sticking up from pulling her shirt off. Her collarbones are unobscured and delectable, begging to be licked, perfect for sucking hickeys onto. And Louis’ boobs are great, they are, fantastic even, but she’s dying to see that showstopping, mouthwatering, jaw-dropping, delicious bum of Louis’. So as she kisses her way up Louis’ neck, she hooks her thumbs into the waistband of Louis’ jeans, eager and anticipating.

Louis helps Harry pull down her deliciously tight jeans (appreciated before for giving such a wonderful of Louis’ ass, but now just superfluous and annoying). She has to sit on Harry, glorious bum resting on her shins while she kicks her skinnies off her muscular calves. She flaps them around wildly, making Harry snort and then they’re off and Louis is nearly completely bare before Harry, black Calvin Klein boxers the only thing on her. She hovers over Harry’s lap on her knees, reaches for Harry’s pink cheeks and Harry for Louis’ hips.

“You’re so beautiful,” Harry whispers, staring into her eyes and thumb petting over Louis’ hip bone. It makes Louis blush (for the first time that night, probably), eyes cast down debuting her devastating eyelashes. She scrunches her nose and shakes her head.

“Not reeeally,” she shrugs, drawing out the 'e', mocking herself. Harry laughs.

“You are,” she says, punctuating the sentence with a small peck. It’s beginning to feel like more than a hookup. Honestly, from the beginning, it felt like more than a hookup.

It seems syrupy slow like Harry’s voice, like the muscles beneath Louis’ skin. It’s disastrous and reckless in the best way, the kind of chaotic good that knocks everything down. It dissolves the walls of hesitation, heartbreak, trauma, this will shatter the walls like glass. This is beautiful and one of a kind except with the familiarity of a fairytale, but better and dirtier. It’s nearly unreal, the way Louis’ hips roll, grinding her heat against Harry’s thigh. Sweet, syrupy slow, a tang of something that leaves you dizzy.  
Louis is making Harry dizzy; she hasn’t come up for air, she’s trying to breathe through her nose but, all she can smell is Louis, all she can feel, all she can hear. She’s whimpering and moaning in Harry’s mouth; the sound is being forced from her lungs. She is breathless and completely unwilling to take her lips off Harry. Until Harry’s lips move to Louis' neck, and she decides that’s the next best thing. Harry can feel Louis’s pulse through her teeth, loves the living, breathing, pulsing proof that Louis is alive and real and here in front of her. She loves that Louis’ pulse is so out of control; she’s shaking and panting like she’s run off a roller coaster. Scared half to death of enjoying it so much. Harry’s tongue laves over Louis’ wonderful soft collarbones and licks up the raw taste of her, sweaty but sweet underneath.

Harry’s hands fit between the ridges in Louis’ spine; they feel the lean muscles in her back. She presses her palm against Louis’ back and sends the blue-eyed girl arching against her, taut nipples dragging against Harry’s pale skin. Her breath catches as she sighs; Harry’s mouth on her neck, Harry’s hands on her back (she’s driving me crazy, but I’m into it). Harry’s fingers slip beneath Louis’ underwear and feel the supple skin beneath. Warm and smooth and beautiful. She grabs a handful of arse- and god if it’s not the best arse she’s ever grabbed (not that she’s grabbed a lot, but still)- and pulls Louis’ closer to her, dragging her crotch against Harry’s pale thigh. She can feel Louis’ wetness against her thigh, feels the humidity through Louis’ pants.

She reaches to feel it herself, to feel the wetness under her fingertips, and she’s nearly dripping. Her wetness spills over the sides of her pants, spreading on Harry’s bare thighs. It seeps through her pants, warm and sticky and strange but amazing and Harry loves this. Harry loves how worked up Louis is, just from eating her out, from Harry’s lips on her neck. A few curls poke out around her pants, glistening with wetness.

“Jesus,” Harry breathes. Her head falls on Louis’ collarbone, overwhelmed and pressing her warm cheek to Louis’ chest. Louis just chuckles, seemingly amused at Harry’s sudden amazement. She pats Harry’s head patronizingly.

“As cute as you are, and darling you are cute, can I please get off now?” Louis asks sweetly. Harry looks up at her, green eyes through long eyelashes, and sticks her tongue out.

“Fine,” she huffs, fake exasperation lowering her tone. And then she’s shoving her hands down Louis’ pants, like a proper fucking lady, and she’s rapidly circling her fingers over Louis’ clit. She pulls a gasp from Louis’ throat, the edge of it a whine, and then Louis is panting, letting out soft moans with every circle. She grinds against Harry’s hands, hips rocking back and forth. Green eyes watch, pupils dilated, at the beautiful spectacle that is Louis.  
Her eyes flutter closed as she bites her lip, trying to keep the moans in. They slip between her lips and teeth, small whimpers and breaths. Her hands clutch Harry’s long curls, fisting and unfisting with each pulse of pleasure. Harry’s been watching too long, can hardly stand to keep her lips off Louis. She latches onto her neck, muscles and tendons straining with the effort of keeping quiet.

“C’mon, Lou, let me hear you,” she mutters, lips pressed against the top of her breast. And by god she does.  
She lets go of her lip and gasps (Harry’s making her crazy, she can hardly breathe) and lets out a low moan as Harry’s middle finger brushes her entrance. Before Harry can even move her finger, she feels Louis clench.

“Fuck,” Harry whispers, overcome with the absolute awe she feels towards Louis. She slides her finger in, moaning herself at how tight and wet she is, fucking dripping down Harry’s fingers immediately. She pushes in, eager to feel more of Louis’ heat. Her breath quickens, bits of her voice catching. And then her hole is fluttering around Harry’s finger, high noises scratching from the back of her throat and she’s coming. She’s shaking and shuddering, breath ragged and eyes squeezed shut. She’s a mess, chest red and splotchy, eyes glazed, cheeks ruddy, lips bitten. Harry’s hand is soaked and bordering pruny, and she has no intention of removing her hand from the depths of Louis’ pants if she keeps on reacting the way she is. She’s gorgeous, panting, resting her forehead Harry’s curls.

“Jesus Christ,” she mouths against Harry’s curls. Harry giggles and wraps her arms around Louis’ waist and plops back on the bed. She smooths her dry hand down Louis’ back, swiping her thumb in the space between her shoulder blades. Louis’ mouthing against Harry’s collarbones absentmindedly while she catches her breath and lets the tingling subside. Harry tries to subtly wipe her hand on Louis’ comforter.

“Did you just wipe your dirty-ass hand on my comforter,” she mumbles against Harry’s chest. It’s not as much a question as it is an incredulous statement. Harry snorts.

“It’s your cum,” she shrugs.

“Oi, stop moving, I’m sleeping.”

That ends Harry’s incessant questioning can i sleepover can i please please let me sleep here with you in my arms and let me make you pancakes am i falling too hard too fast please don’t make me go home.

“You talk an awful lot for someone asleep,” she says instead, completely unable to stop the smile from spreading over her face. There’s a pause.

“You know,” Louis starts, “I’ve been trying to work up the nerve to talk to you for, like, three weeks.”

Harry’s eyes shoot open wide.

“No,” Harry says, “Really?”  
Louis nods into Harry’s chest, sleepy and sated.

And suddenly, out of nowhere, Louis’ wrapping her arms around Harry and flipping them over. A small squeak escapes Harry for like the eighth time in one night before she’s looking up into Louis’ blue eyes. She’s breathless and her stomach is singing, fingers curling against Louis’ skin. She blinks slowly, eyelashes fluttering into her view, blurring Louis’ blue eyes. Louis’ hands are resting by Harry’s ears, and the girl underneath can’t help but stare at the beautiful biceps holding the girl on top of her up. She turns her head, caught up staring at Louis’ wrist tattoo and decides in that second to kiss it.

“Hi,” Louis smiles, cocking her head which she does quite often, Harry has noticed.

“Hi,” Harry replies, smiling right back. She grabs onto Louis’ wrists, in need of something to hold on to. This moment is surreal, she can hardly help it. She’s laying here with a beautiful girl on top of her, in her house, in her room, on her bed. It’s overwhelming in the best way, like walking into a candle store with a thousand different smells. Or a concert with a couple hundred people and a couple hundred lights and a couple hundred smiles. It’s an assault on the senses in the very best way.

“Can I maybe, like, perhaps, i don’t know, stay here forever? Maybe? Possibly?” Harry asks, giggling when she sees Louis’ smile.

“Please,”


End file.
